


I'll Never Let You Hurt, Never Let You Go.

by dumbasshyperfixationtime



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh Knows Everything, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Declarations Of Love, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Post-Canon Fix-It, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Stoner Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 11:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20891555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbasshyperfixationtime/pseuds/dumbasshyperfixationtime
Summary: Richie refuses to let Eddie go. The price for this, he supposes, is a growing need to figure out his shit.Richie saves Eddie, pulling him out of the Neibolt house just in time. While Eddie lies in hospital, his condition unstable, Richie falls in to a weird state of shock, suddenly having to face the feelings he'd been harbouring for the other boy, yet trying so desperately to hide.





	I'll Never Let You Hurt, Never Let You Go.

Wind tousling through their hair, the sound of leaves brushing against the concrete floor serenading them, the four remaining losers stood and watched the house. That big, scary frame, with a personality of its own. Ever since they were kids, it stood there, on Neibolt Street, with this proud kind of eeriness, begging those who dared to step on its porch.  
There they stood: Beverly feeling wet tears tickle her cheeks, Ben holding her hand ferociously in fear of her disappearing with the house, Bill thinking of his wife with a sorrowful apology pounding through his heart and Mike, recalling the moment he lifted his phone from where it sat on his dingy coffee table, and sealed their fate.  
They watched, unable to say anything in their states of shock, as the house crumbled and threatened to fall. Counting the seconds as they passed, each of them wished, prayed, that their two friends, still stuck inside, would show at any minute, punching each other’s arms and joking about who fucked who’s mom all the while. They prayed and prayed and, as they did, felt their hearts in their throats, a longing kind of anticipation running through their entire beings.

* * *

Richie, stunned and breathless, held the small frame of a boy, who he’d always known he’d loved, in his arms. He hugged him tightly, watching as Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his skull as easily as one would wave their hand. Panic struck him then, Richie scrambling to press his ear against the other man’s chest, feeling a tidal wave of relief wash over him when a distant, yet distinct, thumping travelled through his brain. Eddie was alive. Barely, yes. But alive. He pulled himself, with much difficulty, to his feet, slinging Eddie over his shoulder with a gentle _thump_. _Since when did he get so heavy? _Richie mused, remembering when they were only fourteen and Eddie was small enough to carry for miles. Bill was the first to speak, watching his friend as he frailly stumbled.

  
“Richie… we have to go.” Richie swallowed thickly, losing his footing when the house rumbled, but somehow managing to keep stable, as if the promise of Eddie’s safety were the only thing grounding him.

  
“We can’t leave him, Bill.” He tried desperately, watching his friend’s faces. They looked at him with pity, mouths curling downwards. _Don’t fucking look at me like that, _he thought, _don’t look at me like that when Eddie’s still breathing. _Beverly took a step forward, arm outstretched as though a desperate plea. Richie pulled back, trying not to fall, refusing to crumble beneath her gentle touch.

  
“If you don’t leave him, you’ll die, too.” She tried, tears swimming in her eyes. Richie imagined her years before. That fiery, short hair, her determined eyes. He shook his head forcefully, pushing the thought away.

  
“Leave,” Richie began, this time looking to Ben. He noticed how his friend squirmed beneath his gaze, already considering what he had to say “Leave and I’ll try to get us both out.” Bill shook his head sternly.

  
“No. We’re not losing you too.” Frustrated, and at this point honestly frightened, Richie gripped on Eddie’s arms tighter, making sure he didn’t fall off his back.

  
“Bill, I swear to fucking god,” Choking on his words, Richie breathed shakily “I know you’re supposed to be the macho man of the group, never wrong and always to be listened to… but you _have _to let me try. Bill, _please.” _Bill gave Richie a doubtful look, his way of saying _‘this is your last chance to back out.’ _Richie simply shook his head, determined, sure that he could make it if he ran fast enough. “I’ll be right behind.” That seemed to satisfy Bill, who nodded before climbing out. Mike followed with a jog, then Ben, who had to tug Beverly with him. Beverly… with those big, doe eyes, silently begging her friend to let go. Richie refused, and Beverly, in her own weird sort of way, understood. She had felt the same once before. Twenty seven years ago, when her father reached at her, begging for her to be his little girl… She had felt a fierce bravery, a need to do what her heart cried, and she knew that this was Richie’s time to do the same. If he felt it strong enough, she supposed, Richie would succeed. Occasionally looking back, watching as Richie fell further and further behind, trying his best to pull Eddie, Beverly considered this. _What friend would she be, if she didn’t respect that? _

* * *

The house began to disintegrate, moaning an awful sound which signified the snapping of wood and architecture. Shocked, Beverly gasped wetly. She felt Ben tighten his hand on hers, which she appreciated. Her eyes zeroed- in on the doorway, a darkness looming inside, and waited with anticipation. _Hurry the fuck up, Richie. _She almost whispered. Beverly tried to ignore the voice in the back of her head which was already planning his funeral.  
When she saw them, a speck of pale, white skin knocking inside the house, Beverly began to bolt forwards, feeling a tug from behind. Ben begged her with his eyes, mouthing ‘_not yet.’ _She wanted to kick him for a moment then, scream that she wouldn’t let them die when they were _so close, _but she understood. They weren’t near enough to safely grab yet. So, instead, she listened to Richie’s tired groans and screams of frustration, noticing how Bill slowly stalked towards the house, ready to snatch them up. The moment Richie’s foot touched the porch, the house let out a bellowing rumble, rocking side to side vigorously. Beverly couldn’t bare it. She dug her nails deep in to the skin of Ben’s arm, only hard enough for him to let go in shock, and bolted faster than she ever had before, faintly aware of her panting breath. Bill nodded at her, following closely behind, and then everyone was running as quickly as they could. They all knew, in that moment, that it wasn’t about living. _They weren’t alive if the losers were apart._ Beverly, having had the head start, was the first to grab at Richie, tears pouring from her eyes. 

  
“You _asshole!” _She cried in frustration, helping him to his feet and running alongside him. They fell, a crumpled heap on the ground, and watched the others gently pick up Eddie and run outside. As if the house knew to let them escape, it disappeared beneath itself the second they had run far enough away. Beverly’s eyes shone as she watched the house fall beneath a cavern, somehow managing to recognize that a chapter in her life had ended. It was horrifyingly beautiful, flames shooting out in to the sky. A hollow thought filled her head, one which made her want to cry harder: she wished Stan were there to see it. Once silence filled the street, they all got to action, Bill pressing his shirt hard against Eddie’s rapidly bleeding wound, Mike helping to keep pressure, while Ben called the ambulance. Beverly couldn’t move. Instead, the stared through Richie’s glasses, and in to his glossy eyes. Richie, who was wheezing and frowning in pain, had made it. She kissed his cheek, softly, and watched as Richie returned back to normal.

  
“Hey there, gorgeous.” He tried, coughing. Beverly choked a wet bubble of a sob.

  
“I would’ve lost you, idiot.” Richie laughed.

  
“Yeah… I know,” He tried a smile, before beginning to sit up “Where’s Eddie?” Beverly consciously nodded, as if letting herself understand that the moment had passed. She gestured behind herself.

  
“With Mike and Bill. Go.” Richie nodded, gave her a pat on the back, and groaned as he pulled himself to his feet, running to his best friend. Beverly still couldn’t move, really. She just sat there, stunned. They’d made it. The losers had made it. It felt euphoric, but she knew it wasn’t over yet.

* * *

The two boys curled up against the soft couch, eyes transfixed ahead on the TV screen. Some horror flick was on; Richie’s choice, obviously, and the two were snuggled against one another. Soft blanket pooling across their bodies, they screamed in sync when the monster growled, looking at one another and laughing at their shared reaction. It was a good time, a calm time. They were still on edge after narrowly avoiding Bowers while they were on their way back to Richie’s. Henry had turned on them, noticing the way their hands naturally linked as if it were second nature, and called out.

“Hey, _faggots,_” He screamed, Richie tensed up immediately at the word directed at him. Eddie had gone still, shaking. “Going on a date, are we?” Henry had finished, walking towards them casually. Richie knew that he should’ve bitten his tongue, nodded and moved on but he couldn’t, the words slipped out before he even had time to think.  
  
“Nah, we were just on our way to give your dad a blowy, is all.” Eddie whispered his name under his breath then, letting go of Richie’s hand. Suddenly, with that small gesture, his bravery faded away. Richie was left stunned, watching as Bowers’ eyes practically turned red. Richie looked down to Eddie, who was looking back as if begging for the other boy to do something.  
  
“Run!” He screamed, grabbing at Eddie’s arm and bolting across the street. Bowers followed, legs pumping as he screamed.  
  
“I’ll get you, Trashmouth! I’ll get you and your little boyfriend, too!”  
  
“Suck me!” Richie called, already noticing how the bully was losing them. Eddie moved his little legs beside Richie, breathing hoarsely, as they rounded through alleyways and side streets, only stopping once they were confident they had lost Henry Bowers. Eddie began wheezing short, little breaths and, without thinking, Richie grabbed at his right pocket and pulled out his aspirator. Eddie seemed to go red at this, probably just winded, and took the plastic from his friend, breathing in deep puffs of medicine. Once his gasping had calmed, Eddie kicked Richie’s shins, causing the other boy to grimace in pain.  
  
“Ouch!”  
  
“Bowers almost got us, dumbass.” Richie winked at that cheekily, grinning ear from ear.  
  
“Nah, I wouldn’t let that fat lump of lard get my little Eds.” Reaching out to pinch Eddie’s cheeks, he went red at the ears when the other boy’s face twisted in an annoyed gesture.  
  
“Don’t call me Eds.”  
  
The two now sat, seemingly forgetting the entire ordeal. That is, Richie thought they’d gotten over it, when suddenly he heard a sniffle from beside him. Startled, he looked down at Eddie, who was quietly weeping, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.  
  
“Eds?” Richie whispered, shuffling to fully face the other boy. Eddie looked up at Richie with sparkling eyes, shaking his head.  
  
“I’m fine.” He chuckled, seemingly embarrassed. But Eddie really didn’t seem fine. Richie had gotten good at knowing how his friend felt, recognising the difference between his annoyed laughs, happy laughs, sad laughs and angry laughs. It didn’t take much for him to notice that Eddie was lying.  
  
“You can talk to me about it, you know.” Eddie looked at Richie for a moment, studying his features, clearly checking that he wasn’t poking fun at him. Once satisfied, Eddie leant his head against the back of the couch.  
  
“I’m a little overwhelmed, I guess.” He tried, shrugging. Richie took Eddie’s hands and placed them in his lap, a gesture that seemed to calm him.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. Mom’s been getting worse. And I’m just… not sure? I want to be more, I suppose. I want to be more than pills and doctor’s appointments.”  
  
“You _are_ more than that, Eds.” Richie soothingly stated. Eddie shook his head.  
  
“The thing is, though, I’m scared, ‘chee. I can’t… I don’t know… _free _myself from her because I’m scared of getting sick and dying,” Eddie chocked out a little sob, steadying himself with shaky breaths “I don’t want to die…” He tried, sheepishly looking at the floor. Richie stared at Eddie, then. He didn’t quite understand what the other boy meant. Of course he wouldn’t die.  
  
“Eddie, I don’t…”  
  
“It’s stupid. I just think that sometimes my mom’s right. Maybe I really am precious and stupid and maybe I’m not actually brave. Maybe if I don’t keep myself wrapped in a bubble, I _will _break.” Eddie let himself laugh gently, the kind of sound that usually meant someone was embarrassed to have shared. Richie pulled Eddie in to a hug, refusing to let go when the other boy uncomfortably squirmed. Eventually, he eased in to the action, seeming to feel better. When they pulled back, Richie offered Eddie a sideways smile.  
  
“Hey, don’t worry! I won’t let you die, Eds. Promise. Who else would I annoy?” Eddie laughed, shaking his head vigorously.  
  
“God, you’re so annoying. Remind me to talk to someone else about my shit next time.” Richie laughed, elbowing his friend and feeling a happiness seep through his bones.  
At the time, Richie didn’t know his fate. He didn’t know that Eddie was wrong for thinking he wasn’t brave, and he’d prove it years later. He didn’t know that his promise would be broken, either….  


* * *

  
Richie woke up to his phone ringing. The sound shrieked, burning his ears and worsening his  
headache. Slowly, he leaned across the twin bed, towards his smartphone, pressing cold glass against his burning face.  
  
“Richie Tozier speaking.” He tried, his parched mouth only letting a raspy sound escape his lips.  
  
“Richie? It’s Buh- Buh- Bill.”  
  
“Ah. Hey, man.” He tried, slowly recollecting the events that had unfolded the night before. The house, crumbling like old cookie dough. Beverly, her pleading eyes. Eddie…  
  
“I’m j-just calling you to let you know that Eddie is in the hos- hop- hospit- hospital.” Richie felt a pang in his chest, wetness threatening to spill past his eyes.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I won’t bullshit you. It isn’t looking g-good, he lost a lot of b-b-bluh-bluh…” Richie sighed against the receiver.  
  
“Blood?” He hoped that he’d finished Bill’s sentence incorrectly, hoped that _somehow _Eddie was magically fine.  
  
“Yeah, blood… They’re doing what they can.” Richie nodded, even though he knew Bill wouldn’t notice the action. He felt angry for a moment, wondering who this _they _was, hoping that _they _know how important Eddie was, hoping that _they _would look after him properly, hoping that _they _carefully washed his bed sheets and kept his room tidy, because he knew how much Eddie would hate it if he woke up to a dirty room…  
_If _he woke up…  
He felt sick all at once then, wanting to scream and kick his feet like a toddler. All he could let out, despite his rage and sorrow, however, was a meek, little question.  
  
“When can I see him?”  
  
“They won’t l-let anyone in y-yet, something about needing to ruh-rest.” Bill sounded sorry, overly sympathetic. Richie held back his tears, trying to sound fine.  
  
“Alright.” He replied, hanging up before Bill could talk anymore. He wasn’t sure how much more pity he could handle. Rubbing his palms over his eyes, Richie became painfully aware of how sober he was. Feeling too tired to get up, he curled in to a ball instead, letting hungry sobs wrack his body. Shaking, gasping for breath, Richie let bulbous tears shower his face, feeling nothing more than devastation. He lay like that for some time, screaming hoarsely occasionally, barely caring if anyone heard. He wasn’t quite able to figure out what he was crying over, really. He was overwhelmed, yeah. He was scared for Eddie, yeah. But, at the same time, Richie felt as though he was crying for more, crying over something he hadn’t quite been able to figure out. It was as though he were watching someone else cry, really. It was there; he was screaming and twisting and turning and sobbing, his eyes getting tired and sore, but he didn’t quite think much about it. Once he was sure he’d cried to a point where he couldn’t anymore, Richie got up and stumbled to the bathroom, feeling a desperate need to let cold water run across his sweaty body.   


* * *

  
  
Freshly dressed and looking somewhat more presentable for society, Richie stepped out in to the streets of Derry, letting his feet take him wherever they wanted. He didn’t have a plan, really. All Richie had thought was that he needed space, needed to figure his shit out and try to put a magnifying glass against the blurry patches of his brain, and figured that walking was the easiest way to feel alive and sane whilst doing that. And so, Richie walked, kicking at stray stones on the sidewalk and keeping his hands firmly tucked in his jean pockets. The sun was bright, too bright, mockingly bright, as if calling down on to him, telling him to cheer up because everything was supposed to be better now. The sun was right, everything _was _supposed to be better. Richie sighed, shaking his head and laughing to himself.  
  
“Fucking sun.” He whispered. Richie thought about Eddie for a while. His twitchy movements, small hands and neatly pressed clothes. It’d all be gone soon, he heard himself think. Richie blinked back tears, swallowing dryly because _fuck that. _Eddie would be fine, he was always fine. Despite everything, Eddie had always pulled through. Screaming like a little baby in the meanwhile, sure, but Eddie made it. Back when they’d been in the house and Eddie’s arm broke, all those years ago, he’d made it. Richie was there, he remembered. Holding Eddie’s face fiercely, begging him to keep his eyes on him while _It _pranced towards them… They had made it. And now, some years later, Eddie would make it too… He _had to _make it. Richie sighed, feeling like a kid again. Lost, unsure. Looking up, he squinted, _Jesus, the sun really was bright, _and noticed that he had somehow managed to ponder his way back to a familiar patch of small shops. They’d changed with the years, that was certain. Small, family owned businesses had been replaced by heartless, generic clothing stores, the general atmosphere of the street seeming somehow less genuine, less happy. Despite this, the exact spot where Richie had managed to plant himself was somehow the same. Eerily so, surprisingly so. For there he stood, staring dumbly at an open ice-cream parlor, with its pink walls and tacky tile floors. It was full of families, screaming children high on sugar annoying their parents as they ran around. When he was a kid, he remembered it being empty. Only he and Eddie ever went in the place… Almost as if out of impulse, Richie dipped his hand in to his pocket, pulled out some spare change, and swung the door open, sighing when he heard tacky music play through the shop’s speakers. He smiled, actually _smiled, _when he saw the array of ice cream options lined up by the counter, a hodgepodge of cheerful colours. Richie stepped towards the counter, coins snug in his large hands.  
  
“Welcome to _The Ice-cream Shack, _how may I help you?” A tired, detached teenager asked. Richie almost felt sorry for the kid, having to work with so many screaming children around.  
  
“Hi, I’ll have a couple of-“Richie choked up then, stopping abruptly.  
  
“Sir?” The worker smiled patiently, trying her best not to roll her eyes. Richie blinked. Swallowed. Blinked. _Was he really about to order two, like he always had with Eddie? _Richie shook his head and smiled apologetically.  
  
“Yeah, sorry. One vanilla cone, please.” The worker nodded, moving quickly to assemble what Richie had ordered. Richie’s knuckles were white, he felt dizzy. He and Eddie had always come here for vanilla cones, and Richie almost always ordered. When the worker returned, Richie simply took his ice-cream and payed quickly, scrambling to get out of the store before he fainted. Noticing a bench nearby, he sat, sighing and leaning against the wooden frame. He stared at his melting ice-cream, eyes wide, the white colour threatening to spill past the confines of his cone.  
  
“Eddie,” He breathed out, gasping. “You need to eat it faster, Rich, or it’ll…  


* * *

or it’ll spill all over you!” Richie laughed, smiling at his other friend.  
  
“What? You don’t like my sticky fingers?” He tried, reaching out towards the other boy with long, white hands. Eddie squealed, scampering away and sticking his tongue out.  
  
“Don’t make a mess.” Richie saluted, giving Eddie a serious stare.  
  
“Ayup, yes sir.” Frantically, he licked at the vanilla of his cone, cleaning the melting mess with his tongue. When he looked back up, he noticed how Eddie rolled his eyes at the other boy. In contrast, he neatly ate his treat.  
  
“You’re a_ dog_, Richie.” Richie winked, laughing.  
  
“You like that, don’t ‘cha, Eds?” The smaller boy groaned, leaning against the bench and kicking gently at Richie’s knee.  
  
“You’re _impossible.”  
  
_“You love me though.” Richie smiled.  
  
“Shut up.” Eddie smiled back, grinning from ear to ear. The two boys sat there, enjoying their cold treats, the sun setting over them. Something about just being _with _Eddie had always eased Richie. When they were together, he was _funnier_, _kinder_, _softer_, just generally _better. _And he liked things that way: him and his best friend, Eds. The two of them, against the world…

* * *

Richie opened his eyes, shivering when he noticed that he had somehow made his way to The Barrens, his hand empty, no ice-cream to be seen. Breathing shakily, he sat down on the stony floor, pulling his legs against his chest and tucking his knees under his chin like a scared child. The water seemed to calm him, running in a gentle, steady stream, lulling his thoughts.  
They’d had a good time when they were kids, his friends. Richie wondered what had happened, then. How had they managed to leave Derry and forget one another, forget how they had shaped each other’s lives? Richie _knew _what had caused that, of course. _It _had made them forget. But still… the idea baffled him. Now that he had begun to remember, the flood gates opening ever since he’d come back, Richie couldn’t quite grasp it. When he was a kid, his whole life had been the losers. He hung out with them at school, after school… Talked to them whenever he could, _annoyed _them whenever he could, comforted them when they needed it. Richie felt this pang in his chest, this longing need. Not only did he miss it, being a kid, he also felt like he had, in a way, _missed out_ on it. Richie leant back, staring up at the sky, which was far less bright now that the day had begun to pass, and thought about when they were kids. They had some good chucks back then. Making dams, listening to music, watching movies… Those were the good days.  
Richie thought about Stanley, who he would never be able to know outside of his boyhood. Stanley had been quiet, he remembered. He often rolled his eyes at Richie’s antics, which didn’t really seem _too_ rude, considering how annoying he had been. He remembered that Stan had been the most afraid of _It, _he didn’t want to go in the house on Neibolt street. Granted, none of them wanted to, but Stan was the most afraid. Richie smiled at how brave he had been, walking in anyway, knowing what he had to do for his friends. Hadn’t Eddie felt the same only yesterday, when they had walked in to the house to fight _It_? He had been afraid, hadn’t he? Richie could barely remember Stan, despite knowing that they had spent most of their time together. He wondered if that was because he had died, he wondered if that was because _It _had made him die… Would the same happen to Eddie? Would Richie forget him, too? Richie shivered then, suddenly bolting upright, only to land on his hands and knees, feeling bile threaten to crawl out of his throat. He dry heaved until he could barely breathe anymore, looking at the blurring image of his hands. He felt tired and heavy. Richie sighed and brushed his knees off, deciding that he needed to take a nap. Surely that would fix things.  


* * *

Eddie, with his tan skin and nimble hands, crawled towards Richie slowly. The bed seemed painfully long, it taking forever for the other boy to cross the distance. Richie felt his cheeks turn red when Eddie finally sat in his lap, tangling his hands in the black mess that was his hair. Richie gently pulled his hands up to Eddie’s waist, feeling the incredible softness of his skin, heavenly to the touch. Eddie sighed against the other boy’s hands, leaning in close enough for his breath to tickle Richie’s skin.  
  
“Richie…” He sighed, eyes fluttering closed. Slowly, he moved closer, finally pressing his lips against Richie’s. Soft. All of Eddie was soft. Soft and warm and _perfect. _Richie couldn’t help but sigh against the other boy, deepening the kiss and tasting Eddie’s mouth. He was sweet, like candy.  
_  
“Cute_.” Richie breathed against the other boy, savoring every little gasp he let out. Opening his eyes, their gazes met tenderly. Without warning, Eddie tugged at Richie’s hair fiercely, eyes going bloodshot. Eddie began to gurgle, as if something were caught in his throat, a tear escaping his eyes.  
  
“’Chee… You promised…” He spluttered, crying harder now, his eyes rolling back, head falling behind himself. Richie gasped, staring dumbly at the corpse lying in his arms, finally screaming when he noticed Eddie’s blood on his hands, feeling coldness stretch across his skin.

* * *

“Eddie!” Richie cried, bolting upright, uneven gasps wracking through his body. He listened to his labored breathing, staring out across the darkness, as he slowly realized that he’d been dreaming. Pressing his hand against his chest, Richie felt his heart begin to calm, returning to a steady beat. Groggily, he fumbled across to the bedside table, searching for his phone, eventually finding it and clicking the on button. _9:30pm._ He sighed, sitting up and jolting out of bed, feet tapping on the floor until he reached the en suite bathroom. With a flick of the light switch, Richie was blinded, squinting until his eyes adjusted. He pattered across to the sink, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and looked across, at himself, through the dirty mirror. He looked like shit. Hair greasy and tousled, heavy, dark bags beneath his eyes and chapped, dry lips.   
  
“Jesus, Rich, you really need to get your shit together.” Turning on the faucet, splashing water on his face in an effort to wake up, Richie tried to ignore the thoughts his dream harbored. For one, Richie had been kissing Eddie, which was its own can of worms. But he also… Eddie had died. In his arms. Richie groaned, picking up his glasses from the edge of the sink and giving his cheek a good, hearty slap.

  
“You need a drink.” He lazily stated, pointing at his lifeless reflection. Richie nodded, as if agreeing with himself, and fumbled around to find his jeans.

* * *

Richie stared up at the tacky, neon sign flashing back at him, which read ‘_THE ROWDY BAR’_, taking a shaky breath. Drinking. Drinking would calm his nerves. Placing a firm hand against the door, Richie stepped in, making a beeline for the bar. The place was what you’d imagine somewhere called ‘_the rowdy bar_’ to be. It was full of 20-something year old men and old drunks. The air smelt of sweat and god-knows-what-else, cheap pleather furniture embracing rips and scratches from years of use. Richie slid on a stool situated in the corner of the room, flagging down the bartender once he was sure he was in view.

  
“What can I get you?” He asked politely, hands pressed against the counter. He was attractive, in a bartender sort of way. A skinny kind of muscly, arms littered with brown hair, a cheeky grin across his face. He reminded Richie of himself, except he appeared actually _tolerable. Must get lots of girls, _Richie absently thought, before ordering.

  
“Whisky. I don’t care how much it is, just make sure it’s the strong stuff.” The bartender nodded, giving Richie a wink.

  
“I know you, Richie Tozier, right?” Richie nodded, smiling politely.

“You’re dead funny! Me and my girlfriend watch you all the time,” he chuckled to himself, looking at Richie with kind eyes “keep it up. The drink’s on the house.” Riche smiled politely, murmuring a kind ‘thank you’. Once he had his drink, a brown kind of beverage, Richie slid away from the bar and towards a booth. He didn’t want to seem rude, but he really wasn’t in the mood for handling fans. That would require some kind of sanity and patience, neither of which he had.

  
Before Richie knew it, he was downing one drink, then coming back for another, religiously people watching in some confuddled attempt to forget his own shit. A couple of older men played a lazy game of cards, more interested in chatting than winning. Some kid, who was about 23, maybe 25, kept coming back to a pack of girls, offering them drinks continuously, despite being turned down. He didn’t seem like too much of a danger to them, though. Rather, he looked desperate; talking to them and playfully leaving, only to return later. Richie sighed, shaking his head. In no time, Richie was _really _beginning to feel the effect of his drinks, unsure how many he’d actually had. He stayed in the darkness of his corner booth, noticing the way his head seemed to drag with each movement. Sipping on his drink, something that tasted like beer but looked like wine, Richie noticed a boy on the dance floor. He talked to his friends, smiling and giggling. He was young, maybe 20… Tan, soft skin… Tight shorts and a leather crop top… He wiggled his hips while he danced, and Richie couldn’t help but stare, biting his lip and shuffling further in to the darkness behind him. God, if someone saw him he’d _die. _Richie stared up the expanse of his legs, a sick arousal bubbling in his stomach, as he admired the boy’s body. He was slim and fragile, a feminine kind of appearance to him. Richie smiled to himself, too drunk to notice the mantra he’d begun to whisper, so faint that no one else would really hear.

  
“Eddie… Eddie… Eddie…” Taking one last, long look at the boy’s ass, Richie began to realise what he’d been doing, suddenly feeling surprisingly sober. Leaping up, because _oh god he was going to be sick, _Richie pushed his way through the bar and fumbled with the bathroom door, eventually pushing it open. He found a stall just in time, managing to leap in and kick the door shut before he hurled. Bile came running from his throat, sickly gagging sounds filling the air as Richie lunged across the filthy toilet. When he had finished, Richie leant against the stall’s walls, letting its solidity bring him to sanity. He shook his head, trying to let his thoughts escape him. _What the fuck am I doing? _He asked, suddenly realizing where he was. He sighed, breathing heavily, and shakily stood up, stumbling on his feet. Flushing the toilet, feeling gross, Richie left the bathroom and stumbled out of the bar, trying his best not to fall face first. Richie began to cry as he unstably walked, his hands balling in to fists. His nails dug in to his palms harshly, threatening to break skin. Richie walked, repeating the same word with each step. _Faggot, faggot, faggot… _

* * *

_  
_“You’re nothing but a filthy _faggot._” The boy spat at Richie, hatred simmering in his eyes. Richie opened his mouth but, for once, he found that he had nothing to say. Instead, he nodded, agreeing with the statement made to him.

“Stay the fuck away from me, freak.” Richie watched, mouth hanging open in an O shape, as the kid marched away angrily. Richie felt a disgust bubble in his chest, threatening to crush his heart.  
  
He had tried to kiss him.  
  
Greyson James, aged 11. Pretty, hazel eyes and curly, blonde hair. Richie had a crush on him. His first proper crush, really. Every other crush he’d had was more or less some kind of sick boyish arousal he’d felt around a girl. Not really a crush, more of a boner, to be entirely honest. He had managed to find Greyson outside school that day, his hands shaking as he nervously spoke. Richie leant in harmlessly to kiss him on the cheek. It wasn’t even a romantic action, really, more of a friendly gesture.  
Greyson would move from Derry a couple weeks later. If you asked Richie why, he would’ve said it was his fault. It wasn’t, really. In reality, Greyson’s grandma had gotten sick and his family needed to move closer to look after her, but Richie would never know that. In his mind, he was a filthy faggot. A gross, slimy thing that hurt anyone near him. No one would ever love a pervert like him, Richie knew that. He was wrong. Wrong and disgusting. No one in Derry would ever accept him because, when it came down to it, Richie was _wrong. _Fundamentally fucked up and wrong. A faggot.

* * *

Richie really needed to stop doing this, he seemed to be growing a weird habit for it- waking up knowing fuck all except that his head burns and he’s thirsty. He opened his eyes, shut them immediately because it was far too bright to look, then slowly opened them again. When he finally made sense of what was happening, Richie saw Beverly, smiling gently at him and running her fingers through his hair soothingly.

“Hey, Rich,” She smiled softly “Had a bit too much to drink?”

“Fuuuckkk.” Richie replied, rolling closer to his friend and nuzzling his face against her thigh. She sighed, gently stroking his cheek.

“Okay, so the thing is, you smell like shit.”  
  
“Thanks.” Richie mumbled, his head banging.  
  
“I’ve got a bath drawn for you.” She tried. Richie looked up at her, blinking at her soft eyes, and nodded.  
  
“’Kay, fine.” Beverly smiled.  
  
“You’re a mess,” she laughed, and this time Richie chuckled with her tiredly “I’ll be back when you’ve cleaned.” Beverly started to rise from the bed, but Richie grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down.  
  
“So, I know this is probably awkward, and I’m old enough to wash myself, but… Bev, could you stay?” Beverly sighed, looking at him gently.  
  
“I’m the best friend in the world, y’know.” Richie nodded, smiling against the bed sheet.  
  
“You really, really are.” Beverly began to lift Richie from the bed, and he complied by stumbling up. In a way, Richie felt like a complete and utter baby, getting piss drunk and having to have his friend look after him. He was thankful for Beverly, though. As they walked in to the bathroom, Richie began to remember their time together way back when. This was a regular occurrence, he recalled. He and Bev would get in to fucked up shit and the more sober of the two of them would have to look after the other one. He chuckled at that.  
  
“What’re you laughing for, huh?” Beverly sat on the edge of the bath, waiting for Richie to strip down and step in the warm water. Richie pulled his shirt off as he spoke.  
  
“We did this when we were kids.” Beverly gave him a sideways look, then widened her eyes in realization.  
  
“I forgot that…” He laughed.  
  
“Yeah… Turn ‘round, Bev.” She nodded, looking away as Richie pulled off his underwear and stepped in to the water. He tried his best to cross his legs so his dick wasn’t _completely_ in full view.  
  
“All good?” She asked.  
  
“Yeah.” He responded, starting to wipe at his arms with a wash towel. Beverly smiled at Richie sympathetically.  
  
“So, do you want to tell me what triggered that bout of drinking?” Richie’s jaw tensed, he clicked his tongue.  
  
“Nah.” He tried, keeping his eyes away from Beverly as he continued to clean himself.  
  
“It wasn’t really a question.”  
  
“But you used the words ‘do you want’.”  
  
“Richie...” Finally, Richie looked up, his eyes catching Beverly’s. She had a look in her eye, a glint that screamed genuine concern. He eased up under that look, it was so familiarly _Beverly. _   
  
“Just… Thought about everything, I guess.”  
  
“How vague.”  
  
“Let me ease in to it, Bev!” Richie screamed, throwing up his hands. Beverly giggled, shuffling on the edge of the bathtub so she leant against the tile wall.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“I was thinking about _Eddie, _okay,” Beverly nodded, stifling a laugh because Richie was being so ridiculous. “I was… yeah… I can’t stop thinking about it.”  
  
“I know.” She shivered. Clearly, she’d been having dreams over the whole event, too.  
  
“What if he dies?” Richie whispered, trying to hold back tears. Beverly shook her head fiercely at him.  
  
“He won’t. Eddie’s too fucking… _persistent _for that.” Richie nodded, agreeing.  
  
“So, I had a dream…” Richie gulped, fighting the urge to simply ignore his issues, like he always did when he was a kid “Eddie was in it… He died… I just needed a drink.” Beverly smiled at him, knowingly. Richie wondered for a moment if she had telepathy, because she _definitely _knew that there was more to that dream.  
  
“Rich… I’m gonna let you finish cleaning up, yeah?” Richie nodded, trying to ease up a tightness was beginning build in his chest “Don’t start drinking, unless you ring me to join.” She winked at him, which Richie rolled his eyes at.  
  
“I’ll be sure to give you a call.” Beverly threw her head back, letting out a soft laugh. She touched the door to leave, stopped, then turned back.  
  
“Rich, call the others, would you? In your time, of course. Everyone’s worried.”  
  
“I know, Eddie isn’t even stable-“  
  
“Worried about you.” She mouthed. Richie paused, blinking. Before he could even think to reply, Beverly walked out, shutting the door quietly behind her. _Worried about you…_

* * *

Richie had made his way to the hospital. He didn’t know why, really. No one was allowed in Eddie’s room yet, so the effort seemed kind of fruitless. But Richie felt that it was the _right thing to do. _He couldn’t let himself avoid the place forever. If Eddie died… Well, he would never forgive himself for staying away. Sitting on the sterile bench of the waiting room, his knee nervously jumped up and down. Richie tried to ignore the hospital smell that was floating around in the air. How did Eddie ever get used to this? It seemed so wrong, too clean…  
  
Richie used to live in the dirt. He was mud and filth and danger through and through. It’s kind of funny, he figures, that he and Eddie ever even became friends in the first place. Richie would _look _at the other boy, and Eddie would squirm away in disgust, convinced that he harbored fifty different diseases. The more they hung out, though, the cleaner Richie got and the dirtier Eddie became. The mud nestled on Richie’s cheeks and knees slowly disappeared, all so he could sit closer to his friend. Eddie’s change was slow but drastic. He went from a home-bound kid to a wild thing, running around streets and jumping across The Barrens. Of course, whenever he got a scrape or bruise, Eddie panicked, wailing that ‘he was going to get herpes!’, but he’d eventually calm once Richie explained the actual chances of that being the case. Slowly, Eddie’s panics went from worries about diseases and getting sick to rants about how ‘his mom would _kill _him and he’d be in the E.R for YEARS!’ Richie probably should’ve taken him more seriously, in hindsight, but there was always something inherently cute about the way Eddie would cross his arms and scream at his best friend.  
  
“_Really Rich? I’m covered in mud! Mom won’t let me leave the house for weeks!”_ His face would be all scrunched up and beautiful and Richie would be unable to keep himself from laughing. That, of course, would cause Eddie to get even more annoyed and Richie would pretend to feel bad but, deep down, they both knew that he wasn’t actually upset. A few minutes later, Eddie would be back at it again, jumping around and laughing with Richie like nothing had happened.  
  
Richie smiled, humming to himself. Eddie had always been his best friend. They looked after each other, that was their thing, they were always attached by the hip… Eddie had always made him blush, Richie remembered. That scrawny kid could just _look _at Richie and he’d be a mess, sweating profusely and spluttering out mild at best jokes to save his sanity. Richie considered this, letting his thoughts connect slowly.

  
And so, there Richie sat, in the middle of a clean, white hospital waiting room, smiling as he thought of mud and dirt and _Eddie… _Admitting to himself, maybe for the first time in years, maybe for the first time in forever, that he _loved _Eddie. Admitting that the little kid he’d known better than himself, with his soft face and fear of scraped knees, had Richie’s heart…  


* * *

Richie woke up the following morning feeling, for the first time in the past couple of days, actually pretty _decent. _No headache, no hangover, no bad dreams that left him sweating and wondering if _It _really was dead. Richie rose from bed with a satisfied yawn, scratching at his stubble lazily. He smiled to himself, laughing at nothing really and remembered his interaction with Beverly the morning before.

“_Call the others, would you?_” It was a fine request, maybe even a _good _idea now that Richie was actually feeling somewhat human. He thought for a moment then, wondering who he should talk to first. Ben, probably. Ben had always been easy to talk to. He listened to you, and didn’t feel the need to shove his opinions in the middle of your muddled, messed up thoughts… Richie nodded. Yeah, Ben. He was the kind of person you’d just naturally talk to about anything first. The secrets you told him settled deep in the middle of his heart, he took you seriously. Reaching over for the hotel phone, he looked at the numbers typed across, finding four, which was the room Ben had been staying in. Pressing the phone against his ear, he listened to the rings as they droned, until someone finally picked up.  
  
“Yeah?” It was Beverly. Richie found that funny.

“Hey Bev, so I know you’ve been having wild, rowdy sex with Ben- god knows, I can’t sleep with all that ruckus- but if you could pass the phone over to-“  
  
“_Jesus Christ Rich_¸ shut up. Ben- Yeah, its Richie. Here.”  
  
“Hey, bud. What is it?” Richie tried his best not to roll his eyes at Ben’s pitiful tone of voice. Didn’t he get the memo? Richie was finally doing _well. _He was on cloud fucking nine!  
  
“Hey Benny-boy. We haven’t talked since... _It. _I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch today? Just us?”  
  
“Yeah, sure man. How’s 12:30? I’ll walk with you to find a café.” Richie nodded, satisfied. _Yeah, lunch with Ben. Sounds good.  
  
_“Works for me, see you then.”  
  
“Bye, Rich.”  
  
_Click._ Richie sat on the edge of the bed, staring across at his sunny window, a smile forming on his face.

* * *

Richie shuffled where he sat, getting comfortable while Ben ordered their drinks and food. The two of them had settled on meeting up at a small, quiet café in one of the posher areas of Derry. He supposes the idea came from a need to avoid anything even remotely unpleasant and dangerous for the time being. Partially because Richie had proven to be a danger to himself since his little drinking incident, and partially because they needed a break after everything that had happened. Finally, Ben slid across, positioning himself opposite of Richie, and placed down their table number. Ben smiled at Richie kindly.  
  
“How’ve you been, man?”  
  
“I’m sure Bev’s told you most of it.”  
  
“I mean, yes, but she doesn’t even know much herself.” Richie nodded. That wasn’t exactly true. Sure, Beverly knew what was happening with him, she had a weird habit of doing that, just _getting _him. But Richie hadn’t told her anything, really, so she didn’t have much to report back to Ben.  
  
“I’m doing… Better.” Richie took a shaky breath, smiling up at Ben.  
  
“Better?”  
  
“I had my moments, but I think I’m alright now. I just kept getting weird dreams, scary dreams, is all…”  
  
“I get that.” Ben replied.  
  
“I keep remembering things, y’know? It’s funny, how much I’d forgotten.” Richie mentioned.  
  
“Remember that day down in The Barrens? We made a dam?” Richie nodded at Ben.  
  
“Yeah, man! That was the first day we actually chummed together.” Richie cringed at himself. _Chummed. _How long had it been since he’d seriously said that?  
  
“That was one of the biggest days of my childhood, in retrospect. I didn’t have any friends before then, anyone to hang out with. When I remembered it, everything hit me at one. Such an important memory, one that shaped my life, and I forgot it…” Richie nodded. It was weird. Now that _It _was gone, everything had begun rushing back to him much faster, and it was all too overwhelming. He’d forgotten so much. “I mean, I had the biggest crush on Bev-“  
  
“We noticed, Ben. She’d look at you and you were practically swimming in your own sweat.” Ben laughed, shaking his head.  
  
“Beep Beep, Richie. Beverly was kind of all I _ever _thought about and it wasn’t until I really saw her that I remembered… Crazy how I forgot something that important. I mean… I never married after Derry, because I thought I wasn’t interested... Maybe no one was ever good enough in comparison.” Richie swallowed thickly, feeling a weird parallel between the two of them. Ben was looking at the table, he’d been staring at it as he spoke, as if the item were helping him think.  
  
“Me too,” He started. Ben looked up surprised “I was in love, too. I forgot.”  
  
“Who?” Ben enquired, leaning in closer to show his interest. Richie could feel something bubbling up in him. A nervousness, he supposed. He’d never uttered the words before, or at least he couldn’t remember ever telling anyone.  
  
“Eddie.” He breathed out, staring at his hands, picking at a hangnail.  
  
“We all kind of knew.” Ben tried. Richie laughed, shaking his head, tears prickling his eyes.  
  
“No wonder, I was _all over_ the kid.”  
  
“Excuse me-“ Richie looked up at the waiter, smiling gently when she placed down their coffees and cakes.  
  
“Thanks.” Ben smiled, handing her a twenty dollar bill. She beamed at him, grinning from ear to ear, and walked away, pleased with the tip. Richie began to pull his chocolate cake closer to him as he spoke.  
  
“Well aren’t you a nice guy?”  
  
“It’s good to tip, Rich.” Richie laughed, taking a sip of his coffee in an attempt to ease his dry mouth before continuing the conversation.  
  
“Yeah, so I was,” he swallowed tightly, bringing himself to repeat the words “_in love _with Eddie. And I forgot him… somehow. And I guess I kind of feel guilty, you know? Because he’s in the hospital right now and it took him almost dying for me to remember that.” Shrugging, because Richie really didn’t want to cry, he took a bite of his chocolate cake.  
  
“It’s not your fault.” Ben watched Richie eat.  
  
“This cake is _really fucking good, _Ben.” It was. It tasted rich and homemade. It was really god.  
  
“Richie… don’t blame yourself.” Richie blinked at Ben, kind of mad because honestly _he was doing so well at holding everything in_, and began to cry. Gently. He didn’t even notice the tears until he could taste salt in his mouth.  
  
“I never married, Ben. I never married because I thought _‘hey, chicks are just so yesterday’. _Y’know, like some fucking douchebag or something. And I mean, sometimes I looked at guys for too long, but it was always just me _appreciating the male form_. And now I come back to Derry, and maybe I’m not just straight. I don’t know…. And now Eddie…”  
  
“It okay not to know,” Ben tried “It’s okay if you still need to figure it out.”  
  
“Yeah.” Riche replied shakily, shoving a mouthful of cake in his mouth because he _really _didn’t want to talk about this. Ben sipped his coffee, laughing to himself.  
  
“I was just thinking… it’s weird but… _It _ruled our lives. We did everything because of _It _but now that _It’s _gone… We’re only just now in control of what happens.” Richie stared at Ben, feeling a shiver hold his spine.  
  
“Well, that’s a terrifying thought…” Ben nodded simply, laughing nervously.   
  
“On a happier note, Bev and I are thinking about getting a boat once we leave Derry…”

* * *

Richie stared at the tiny screen mounted on his hotel room wall, watching a bunch of stand-up skits. They weren’t very good, but Richie had his bad days, too, so he couldn’t blame the comedians for poor delivery. He imagined Eddie sitting beside him, their knees knocking while they talked over the TV, and felt a pang in his chest. Ben was right… They were only _just_ in control of their lives now. While this terrified him, Richie figured that it was a comforting thing to consider. Maybe, just maybe, Richie would be able to tell Eddie… _God no, that’s stupid. _Richie laughed despite himself, shaking his head and pushing his eyes against his knees. He had forgotten Eddie for most of his life and now that he was back in Derry, Richie was beginning to realise just how overwhelmingly important he was to him. _Is _to him. Richie leant back on his bed, gasping for air, and let himself cry. He felt a little like how he did when Bill had called him to say that Eddie was in hospital. He certainly was crying like that now, at least. But this time, Richie knew why. He’d forgotten Eddie, spent so many years of his life without even thinking about him. But now… Well, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him now.

* * *

Richie sat in the movie theatre seat, listening to the film which was screening play but hardly watching it. No, his eyes were on Eddie. Eddie, who had managed to convince his mom go out this one time, and was crunching on popcorn feverishly, even though he’d complained only a few minutes ago that popcorn ‘had too much salt in it.’ Richie stared in awe at Eddie, blushing whenever he giggled at the movie. _Beautiful, _Richie thought, resisting the urge to lean in and kiss the other boy right there and then, _he’s so beautiful. _

* * *

_  
_Richie held the phone to his ear, having been woken up by its ringing, and smiled a boyish grin.

  
“I’m sorry, repeat that again, Mike?”

  
“Eddie is stable, he’ll be okay.” Richie felt tears threaten to spill past his eyes, he didn’t really care if they did.

  
“This isn’t a joke?”

  
“Why would I joke-“

  
“Mike, I could kiss you right about now.”

  
“God, please don’t.” Richie laughed. _Giggled, _more like, his cheeks hurting so much from smiling.

  
“Can I see him?”

  
“Not yet, apparently. Annoying, but I guess you _do _have to listen to doctors.” Richie grinned dumbly for a moment then. _Eddie would be fine, he’d survive. _

  
“Mike, do you think I could head over to yours for a while?”

  
“I mean… yeah? Why?”

  
“See you in ten!” Richie hung up before Mike could protest, dancing around the room as he pulled his pants on.

  
_Eddie would be okay. _

* * *

Mike opened the door tiredly, yawning as he did.

  
“Hey Rich-“Richie wasted no time, pulling his friend in to a firm hug, grinning against his shoulder. Mike laughed a little. “Okay, calm down…” Richie’s smile was still plastered on his face.

  
“Sorry, Mike, can’t. Eddie’s okay.”

  
“Yeah,” Mike chuckled, equally as excited “Come in, man. Let’s drink to this.” Richie complied, never able to turn down a good drink, and hastily plopped himself on one of Mike’s cheap, plastic dining chairs. Mike poured a thick, rich, red wine into a glass and handed it to his friend before serving himself, sitting down to speak to Richie.

  
“Miracles _do _happen.” Richie said, unable to hide his joy.

“Richie, you are frightening me with your enthusiasm.”  
  
“I’ve always been the ecstatic one, get with the program.” Mike chuckled, downing a heavy gulp of his wine in celebration.  
  
“It’s probably only 11am and we’re drinking.”  
  
“It’s a celebration!” Richie cheered, taking a hearty sip.  
  
“So, you’re here for wine, I take it?” Richie laughed, even though it wasn’t really a joke.  
  
“We’ll all be leaving Derry soon, and I want to hang out before that happens,” Richie realized, as the words poured from his mouth, that this was true. He wanted one last time with his friends, one last laugh. “I want to talk about things, too. Figure out some stuff.”  
  
“And who better to do that with than your friends?” Richie nodded in agreement, glad that Mike understood.  
  
“You never forgot anything while you were in Derry, did you?” Mike smiled.  
  
“Nope, not a single thing.” Richie looked in to his wine, taking another sip.  
  
“It’s… _strange_, forgetting the important parts of your childhood.”  
  
“I can imagine.”  
  
“I’ve been starting to realise just how much I have forgotten, y’know? I’ve forgotten really important things…” Richie spoke as he processed his feelings, finally thinking he had a grasp on everything.  
  
“What kind of things?”  
  
“Lovers,” he choked out “crushes, those things. And what came with that. Like, for example, I’m bisexual.” Richie let out a drunk laugh then, finding the concept funny to admit.  
  
“Mmm.”  
  
“I never even considered that. Weird, huh? I mean, I never even thought about it until that _fucking clown _opened its mouth.” He shook his head, feeling weirded out.  
  
“That’s strange.”  
  
“I mean, I think it’s because Eddie, my crush, he helped me realise it. So being bisexual was somehow tied to Derry, since it was tied to him…” Richie smiled, taking a big gulp of his wine. He didn’t feel upset or sad, rather strange. And Mike was a weird person to discuss this with, anyway, since he’d never really been emotional with him before.  
  
“I can’t explain it. I’m sorry, Richie. I wish I could help.” Richie thought that maybe Mike understood. This wasn’t a conversation for them to have.  
  
“Sorry about getting emotional for a moment there… Eddie, though. He’s stable!” Richie cheered, pushing back his thoughts for the moment, knowing that he would need to hash them out with the one person who had always been there for his shit.

* * *

  
The moment the ringing stopped, Richie spoke, an anticipation running through his veins.  
  
“Beverly.” He stated.  
  
“Richie.” Beverly replied, smiling in to the receiver.  
  
“When we were kids, did you know that we got high?” He mused. He could hear Beverly softly chuckling.  
  
“We were pot heads, that’s for sure. But, I don’t know where to get weed. So unless you’re calling for something else, all I can offer is to come ‘round with the cigarettes and whiskey I keep in my purse.”  
  
“Be quick, my love. I am desperate for you.” Richie winked, realized that Beverly couldn’t see the gesture, and laughed. Beverly hung up wordlessly, knocking on his door no less than ten minutes later. Richie swung the door open, smiling at her with a lazy grin.  
  
“So, I suppose you have shit to talk about?” She asked, already walking past him to lie across his bed. Richie laughed, shutting the door and sitting next to her.  
  
“Pretty much, yeah.” Beverly offered him a cigarette, which he happily took. Richie walked over to the window, cracking it open so the alarm didn’t go off, and took the lighter off his friend.  
  
“Alright, shoot.” Richie lit his cigarette, taking a long puff, and felt relief pour over him.  
  
“I’ve been doing some soul searching, I guess you could say.” Beverly smiled at him cheekily.  
  
“It’s Eddie, isn’t it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s about Eddie.” Richie stared blankly at Beverly, mouth ajar. _How in the actual fuck did the damn bitch have him read like the back of her hand?  
  
_“You’re too good at being a best friend, you need to forfeit.” Beverly chuckled, opening the whisky and taking a short sip, grimacing at its strength.  
  
“I’ve known for an embarrassingly long time.”  
  
“Okay, so now that we’ve established that you knew _my own shit _before me… can I talk?”  
  
“Go for it, Trashmouth.”  
  
“So, Eddie. I’m crazily, madly, insanely in love with Eddie…” Beverly nodded.  
  
“As we’ve established.”  
  
“And that means I’m bi, which I only just really figured out this morning.”  
  
“Because you’re _slow._”  
  
“Damn, Beverly. You really going to invalidate my personal journey?” Beverly laughed, taking Richie’s cigarette and swapping it for the whisky. Richie took a swig, feeling the liquid burn his throat.  
  
“So, what’s the big problem, Rich?” Richie sighed shakily, watching his friend take a puff from the cigarette.  
  
“Telling him, I guess…. Now that I’ve figured it out.” Beverly nodded, watching his face.  
  
“You can’t just avoid it.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Like you usually avoid things.”  
  
“I know, Bev.” Beverly nodded at him.  
  
“Y’know, I forgot you.”  
  
“We all forgot each other.” Beverly laughed.  
  
“Yeah, I know, but I forgot _you. _I mean, we were tight. Not as tight as you and Eddie, obviously,” Beverly winked at Richie, which made him roll his eyes “But y’know… you were my big brother, practically.”  
  
“Jesus, don’t tell fourteen year old me that.”  
  
“You’re gross, Richie Tozier.” Beverly laughed, knocking against Richie and gesturing for the whiskey. Richie passed it over.  
  
“You and Ben are a good match.”  
  
“Huh?” Beverly asked, mid swig.  
  
“You and Ben. I’m glad you’ve got him.”  
  
“Thanks, Rich,” She smiled at him warmly. “Really. My husband- _ex-husband _– he was abusive.”  
  
“Like your dad?” Beverly drank again, before passing Richie the whiskey and walking towards the window to throw the cigarette out.  
  
“Yeah, like him.”  
  
“Ben’s kind, good for you. You always deserved better, Bev… I’m happy for you.” Beverly turned around this time, her eyes shining with fresh tears.  
  
“You’re a sap, Rich.” She tried, wiping at her teary face. Richie smiled at her warmly… Before coming to his senses and immediately burying his face in his hands, groaning.  
  
“_God. _How will I tell Eddie?”  
  
“With your words.”

* * *

The first thought Richie had the next morning was that he should go birdwatching with Stanley. He quickly turned white upon realizing his mistake and instead sat up, sighing a heavy kind of sigh. _Right, Stanley… Not here…. _Richie reached for his phone, getting used to the pattern of phone calls in the morning, and called the next best person. If Ben was the first person you talked to about things, Bill was always the last. Bill told you to do things, gave you direction and rarely focused on feelings. You told Bill how you were feeling if it was _really _bothering you.  
  
“Bill Denbrough spuh- speaking.”  
  
“Hey, it’s Richie. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out? I kind of,” Richie scratched his neck anxiously “have some things to discuss.”  
  
“Actually, I was on my wuh- wuh- way to the hospital now. Meet y-you there?”  
  
“Sounds good, Big Bill.” 

* * *

“Hey Bill.” Richie smiled, taking a seat next to his friend. They were in the hallway, facing Eddie’s hospital room. The idea of that made Richie nervous. After so long thinking about the man through those walls, he was kind of scared to see him, scared to finally have to face his feelings. Bill smiled at Richie, nodding towards the door.  
  
“I’m guh- glad he’s o-o-okay.”  
  
“Yeah,” Richie smiled “Me too.”  
  
“Buh- Beverly called me. I k-kn-know everything.” Bill offered, shrugging. Richie laughed. _Of course Beverly told him.  
  
_“Look, Bill… I’m sorry for yelling at you back at Neibolt street.”  
  
“It’s fuh- fine. R-r-really, I get it.”  
  
“I just couldn’t let him go, I couldn’t watch him die.”  
  
“If you d-didn’t yell, you wuh- wouldn’t have s-s-saved him.” Richie nodded.  
  
“I guess that’s true.” Richie shook his head, laughing awkwardly. He was on edge now, ticking with nerves. Eddie was _so close.  
  
_“It’s only Eddie.” Bill stated, smiling at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
“He’s your b-b-best fruh- friend. He won’t hurt you.” Richie laughed.  
  
“I’m scared shitless, Bill.”  
  
“Don’t be, trust me.” Richie looked to his friend, noting the stern, sure expression he held. Richie could trust him. Richie could believe Bill. Taking a shaky breath, he steadied himself. Everything would be fine because, at the end of the day, Eddie was fine.  
  
“I wish Stanley could be here.” Richie whispered, more so to himself that anyone else. A silence lingered between the two men.  
  
“S-St- Stan wuh- was… I miss him,” Bill tried. Richie smiled, acknowledging what was hanging between them, something that was known but couldn’t be said. Stanley was a loser, it was like a piece of them was missing. “Sh- should we ch- check if we can s-s-see him?” Richie nodded, probably a bit too vigorously, watching as Bill spoke to a nurse nearby. Richie’s heart was pounding in his throat and if he wasn’t breathing right now, he’d think he was dying, probably. He saw the nurse nod. All at once, Richie felt both worse and better.  
  
“G-go in.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you see him first?” Bill was the leader, after all. Bill did things first, it was just how they worked.  
  
“I’ll cuh- call the others. It’s only ruh- right that you go f-f-first.” Richie gulped. Hard. Practically shaking, because how in the hell could Richie be calm in this moment, Richie pressed his hand against the door to Eddie’s private hospital room.  
  
Richie quietly shuffled through, not wanting to disturb his friend, who was looking outside a window opposite of the door. He looked beat, that was for sure. But just as beautiful as Richie remembered, especially with daylight bathing his figure. An array of tubes tuck from his arms, he could hear Eddie’s labored breathing. Richie gulped. _No time’s a better time than now.  
  
_“Eds…” The other boy turned, his chocolate eyes pinning Richie down. Breathtaking, that was the word that crossed his mind. A piece of fabric was taped against Eddie’s cheek, keeping the place where Bowers had stabbed him sterile. Richie couldn’t see Eddie’s waist yet, where a gaping hole had been pierced through him, it was covered by a soft blanket… it was nothing short of a miracle that Eddie had survived.  
  
“We did it?” Eddie croaked. Richie laughed. _Right, Eddie wouldn’t know.  
  
_“Yeah, Eds. _It_ crumpled up like a balloon, it was wild.” Tears threatened to spill from Richie’s eyes. _Not now, _he told himself, _not yet.  
_  
“Why are you so far away, Rich?” Richie noticed then that he was still standing by the door nervously, like a kid telling their parent that they’d wet their pants. He laughed dryly, moving closer.  
  
“Right, sorry.” He took a seat beside his friend, too afraid to touch him, scared that Eddie would break apart right in front of him. Eddie smiled, tapping his cheek.  
  
“Gonna be a big scar.” Richie laughed again, this time a tear running down his cheek.  
  
“Yeah, people will think you fought a crocodile or something. Little, skinny Eds, fighting a big beast.”  
  
“Henry _is _a big beast.” Eddie retorted. Richie tried not to read too far in to the fact that he’d called Eddie Eds three times, and not once had he been told to stop calling him that.  
  
“You’ll look really handsome with a scar.” Richie breathed out, because it was true. Eddie would be beautiful no matter what, regardless of bruises, scrapes or wounds.  
  
“Shut up, ‘chee,” Richie let his tears spill, then. He couldn’t help it. _‘Chee. _How silly, a nickname made him crack. Richie leant his head against the bed, sobbing as gently as he could, trying not to startle his friend. “Richie? What’s wrong?” When he looked up, he noticed that Eddie’s eyes were sparkling, too, wetness threatening to spill.  
  
“I thought I’d lost you.” He uttered, feeling weak. Eddie shook his head, starting to cry with his friend.  
  
“It’s okay,” Eddie reached out to Richie, running his hands through his hair. Richie melted against his fingers “I’m here, I’m here.” Those words made Richie’s throat crack, he couldn’t think, really. He wasn’t sure how he would manage to tell Eddie, wasn’t sure how he’d utter those three words, but he tried anyway.  
  
“Eddie, I need to tell you something really important.” Eddie smiled softly.  
  
“Can it wait for when I’m _not _hooked up to machines?” Richie laughed at his bitchy tone. _Yep, still Eddie.  
  
_“I’ve already been waiting a long time to say it, I don’t think I want to wait any longer.” He said, and it was true. He didn’t. Richie didn’t want to wait.  
  
“Okay.” Eddie whispered, nodding, clearly tired and using up his energy to stay awake for Richie.  
  
“I don’t know how to say this, really, Eds… But um… I… I l-“Richie choked on his own words, crying again. He couldn’t say it. Something in him wouldn’t let it come out. It was too scary, too much. When he looked up, frightened eyes meeting Eddie’s reassuring ones, he noticed the way his crush smiled.  
  
“I know,” He whispered, cupping Richie’s cheeks and wiping his tears away “Me too.” Richie searched through his eyes, unsure if they really were on the same page.  
  
“Are you saying what I think…?” Eddie sighed at Richie, laughing at his stupidity.  
  
“Yes, ‘Chee. I love you. Okay? I have a big fucking crush on you and I love you and I realized that pretty much the moment you were caught in those deadlights and I’m crazy for you, idiot.” Richie blinked, dumbfounded.  
  
“I don’t-“Eddie guided Richie’s face towards his, and before Richie could even begin to think, Eddie kissed him. Richie was gentle, he tried his best to keep his hands off of Eddie’s cheek wound, but he savored the moment, none the less.  
  
“Richie?” Eddie asked, looking in to his lover’s eyes.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I should’ve done that sooner.” Richie chuckled, holding Eddie’s hand tight.  
  
“I could say the same.” They sat like that for probably _too long, _Richie amazed that Eddie was alive and Eddie amazed that Richie was there, loving him. Everything seemed safe, then. Richie, looking in to his lover’s eyes like he was the only thing in the world, told himself that he would never let Eddie go again. He’d never forget him, never leave Derry without him… Hell, never_ breathe _without him. And this, Richie knew, was a promise he would keep.


End file.
